


Castiel’s First Haircut

by fannishlyyours



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Absent John Winchester, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Time, Human Castiel (Supernatural), M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2020-03-02 10:29:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18809344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fannishlyyours/pseuds/fannishlyyours
Summary: Dean is bored, Cas needs a haircut, and being human is a lot.





	Castiel’s First Haircut

The first time Dean cut hair, Sam ended up bald. Dean was nine, Sam five. A few weeks past due for a cut, Sam’s hair feathered out awkwardly in sharp, uneven angles at his collar, the front laying limp over his eyes, partially blocking his vision. Their father had left them a day and half prior with warnings to not leave their Texas motel room, which provided little in the way of entertainment and even less in the way of respite from the 102-degree Texas heat, the air conditioner only blowing stale, hot air.

Bored, irritated, and feeling more than a little pity for his brother, Dean did what any enterprising nine-year-old desperate for entertainment would do: he cut Sammy’s hair. 

When John returned the next day to witness the patchy mess (hey, at least Sam could _see_ ), he could do little to salvage it and efficiently shaved Sam’s head clean. Then he gave Dean a beating he didn’t easily forget, and Sammy debuted his signature bitchface (pointed at Dean, of course).

In the months following that memorable week in Texas, Dean learned to trim hair for those inevitable times when John was so distracted by hunting that he forgot to buy groceries much less cut hair, though only his own since Sam refused to let Dean near his head again. As he got older, he kept up the practice, too aware of their ever-present poverty to bother with barbers. Cheaper to use two mirrors, one propped carefully across from the mirror over the bathroom sink, and his own clippers.

Dean watches Cas now, mortal hair growing without the aid of his angelic grace to hold it in stasis. Long strands hang over his eyes, escaping all attempts to keep them tucked behind his ears. With each failed try, Cas huffs a frustrated breath that Dean finds fucking hilarious and kind of adorable.

When Dean had seen pictures of Jimmy Novak, he’d wondered about Cas’s hairstyle (or lack thereof, really). Jimmy’s hair was well-controlled, parted on the right, flattened over scalp. Seeing as how Cas uses no products and looks like he’s perpetually sporting sex hair (and fuck Dean’s life for that kind of daily reminder of what Cas would look like well-fucked, at least when it came to hair), Dean has come to accept the style as part of Cas’ personality, same as his squint or the tilt of his head that Dean’s learned to interpret in at least twenty different ways. (Dean has also tracked down recordings of Jimmy at church events and added the gruffness of Cas’ voice as unique to his personality.)

Looking at Cas now, Dean thinks Cas has probably overlooked all the grooming humanity requires. Dean isn’t in a rush to remind him either, though he is much more willing to take advantage of the oversight, especially when Sam is out with Bobby and Dean has hours to kill.

Cas huffs again as strands escape his attempts at control. “Alright, enough. You’re driving me crazy,” Dean says, startling Cas. He looks up from his book (yet more research) and tilts his head in question. His eyes are wide, and Dean feels like an asshole for starting with an accusation. “Your hair. It’s bothering you.”

Cas looks up at the strands covering his forehead before looking at Dean again. He nods.

“I can help!” Dean says magnanimously, arms open wide. He wants to wince for how hard he’s trying to be casual. “Get up. I’ll cut it for you.”

“You’ll cut my hair for me?” Cas asks skeptically. Dean glares because the tone sounds suspiciously like Sam. But Cas is standing, so Dean doesn’t comment. Just grabs a stool from Bobby’s kitchen and makes his way to the bathroom. Cas follows, much to Dean’s pleasure.

“Sit. Take off your shirt.” Dean doesn’t watch for Cas’ reactions, rummaging through his toiletry bag instead. He unearths his kit, unpacking the clippers, scissors, and comb. When he turns around, Cas is naked from the waist up, sitting perfectly tall and still. Dean’s breath catches. Right. He started this.

“I used to cut Sam’s hair,” he says to fill the silence. His hands hover over Cas’ head. Where to start? This might not have been the smartest impulse decision he’s made. “Well, once, and he never let me near his head with scissors again.” Cas turns around in alarm, and Dean’s hands hover over his head like a fortune teller over her crystal ball. He smirks to cover his awkwardness. “Relax. I’ve gotten better. Even trim my own occasionally.”

Cas looks closely at Dean’s head, probably recalling all of Dean’s haircuts in his perfect angelic memory (does he still have that? He hasn’t asked, but maybe he should). After a few excruciatingly long seconds, Cas relaxes and turns back around. “I am aware I need to get a haircut, but we’ve had other things to worry about,” he says.

“Yeah, I figured.” Dean turns on the tap and rinses his hands. He’ll start by wetting, and perhaps, somewhat taming Cas’ hair.

When his hands make contact, his first thought is, _fuck, that’s soft_. Second is that he’s in real trouble. His eyes close momentarily as he works to regain his composure.

Cas, on the other hand, makes no effort to hide his reaction. He melts. His shoulders relax, his head grows heavy in Dean’s hands, his weight falls onto Dean as he leans back. Dean supports him, running his hands through Cas’ hair till they are dry. It takes a little maneuvering to wet his hands again, but Cas holds himself up until Dean can return his hands and support him again.

When Dean, quite accidentally, really, presses the pads of his fingers to Cas’ scalp, Cas lets out a breathy sigh. Dean’s hands freeze, caught between wanting to hear the sound again and calling the whole thing a shortsighted failure to be abandoned immediately.

He decides to keep going, this time pressing the pads of his fingers with intention. Cas’ weight grows heavier against him and Dean almost regrets getting a stool instead of a chair. Very soon, Cas will likely feel the press of Dean’s growing erection.

Dean thinks of the sewer they crawled through two weeks ago, Crowley’s smug smiles, Sam’s (former, fortunately) demon blood addiction. When he feels a little under control, he wets his hands again, massages the back of Cas’ head, thumbs moving firmly from the back of his neck up to the crown of his head. Cas’ breathy sighs become quiet, obscene noises, fuck Dean’s life, and Dean renews his efforts to think of less desirable things.

He could move on, stop this head massage where it’s at, but he wants to finish, maybe see how much louder Cas can get. He moves his fingers through the top of Cas’ head, tugging lightly at the hair, before pressing his thumb into Cas’s temple and moving up towards his forehead. He repeats this a few times, with increasingly encouraging noises from Cas. Dean presses firmly over Cas’ scalp, behind his ears, onto the back of Cas’ neck. Cas’ head falls forward, chin touching chest, and Dean digs in more firmly. Cas’ noises sound more definitively like moans now, growing longer with each stroke, pull, and press.

Unable to distract himself any further, Dean softens the pressure, returns them to the original plan. He’s cutting Cas’ hair.

Dean places his hands on Cas’ shoulders. Pushes slightly so Cas can sit up fully, maybe not press so firmly against Dean’s growing boner. “Okay, buddy,” Dean says, voice embarrassingly rough. He clears his throat. “Gotta start now.”

“That was really nice. Thank you.” Cas looks back at him sincerely and Dean blushes.

“Glad you enjoyed it,” Dean says, picking up the comb. He turns around and runs it through Cas’ hair. It neatly falls in place. Dean smiles with satisfaction. Wetting it was definitely necessary, even if the massage wasn’t. It’s Cas’ first haircut anyway, he rationalizes. It’s only good etiquette to make a positive impression on the perks of humanity, most of which Cas has yet to experience.

He decides to start at the back, neatly trimming the hair curling up around the back of Cas’ neck. Once he starts, it’s easy to fall back into the routine. Cas sits statue-still, and Dean moves around him, getting the sides. Once he is satisfied, he goes back in with the clippers to make clean edges. For the top of Cas’ head, Dean decides to keep it longer than angelic-Cas had worn. He likes the personality of human-Cas’ hair. 

When he finishes, he moves to face Cas and bends to examine him at eye-level. Moves a piece back into place, the drying hair refusing his attempts to tame. With this length, Cas will probably need another cut in three or four weeks, but Dean wouldn’t oppose a request for help. He smirks. 

“Is it okay?” Cas asks.

Dean meets his eyes. “Why don’t you take a look?” Dean steps back so Cas can stand and use the mirror over the sink. Cas runs his hand through his hair, a smile spreading across his face, widening into a gummy grin. Dean smiles back, pleased.

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas says with painful sincerity.

Dean feels his cheeks warm. “It was nothing,” he waves away the gratitude, breaks eye contact. His eyes land on Cas’ bare shoulders, covered in hair trimmings. “We should get you cleaned up,” he says without thought, reaching out and brushing hair off Cas and onto the floor, the sink. He refuses to meet Cas’ eyes or acknowledge the “we.” His hands keep moving across Cas’ shoulders, even though he’s brushed off all the hair he could without the help of a shower.

“Shower,” Cas says. Dean looks up, startled at Cas reading his thoughts. Cas meets his eyes in the mirror, holds for a couple of long seconds before turning around to face Dean.

There is hair on Cas’ face, below his eyes and on his nose. Dean reaches out, gently brushes it away, eyes falling to Cas’ full lips. Oh, he’s so fucked.

It’s Cas who kisses him first, and that surprises Dean enough that he is momentarily pulled out of his lust haze. Cas is kissing him. Fuck. And Cas can kiss, Dean realizes as the shock begins to wear off, Cas expertly swiping his tongue across the seam of Dean’s lips and laying siege. Cas’ hand moves into his hair, and he steps forward to press their bodies together. How’d he get so good at this?

“How’d you get so good at this?” Dean asks, pulling away to look at Cas. 

Cas growls--actually _growls_ \--and kisses Dean again. Right, talking is overrated anyway. 

Cas’ hands move down Dean’s back, grabbing hold of his ass and pulling them flush against each other. Oh fuck, Cas is semi-hard, too. 

Dean’s brain scrambles. Layers, he’s wearing a lot of layers, and Cas is half-naked, warm under his hands. He needs to be naked, too. He pulls his body away with effort and takes off his overshirt. Cas gets with the program, pulls Dean’s t-shirt off, immediately reaching for Dean’s jeans after. 

Dean looks down at Cas’ nimble fingers unbuttoning his pants and reality slams into him. He’s in Bobby’s bathroom, making out with his best friend who only a couple of months ago lost his grace. _Sex can fuck everything up,_ a panicked voice reminds him. _Now--you remind me_ now _, after the line’s been crossed_ , he thinks back hysterically.  “Cas,” he says, voice rough with sudden anxiety.   

Cas looks up, eyes wide with worry, hands still, knuckles pressed against Dean’s stomach. Dean wants to erase that look from Cas’s face, and that thought takes priority over his increasingly vocal fears. He leans forward and kisses Cas gently. Cas relaxes noticeably, hands moving to Dean’s sides. Dean keeps kissing him, slowly, leisurely. It’s strangely grounding, easing the anxiety, even with the heat pooling inside him, erection pressing urgently against his zipper. 

“Let’s get you that shower,” Dean says against Cas’ lips. Cas looks at him with crystal blue eyes, pupils slightly blown, and nods. 

With effort, Dean steps away. He pushes the shower curtains back enough to reach the faucets and turn on the water. Then he turns back to Cas, toes off his shoes and socks, unzips his pants and pulls them down with his boxers. He kicks the shoes and clothes away from them, pushing the hair on the floor to deeper corners. _Clean up is gonna be a bitch_ , he thinks, a little deliriously. 

Cas watches him, unblinking, taking in every motion. Dean feels unsteady, vulnerable. “Gonna join me?” he asks, resisting the urge to hide behind the shower curtain or fidget. 

Cas smiles, unbuttons his jeans, unzips slowly. Dean watches, mouth dry. Cas stops there, though, and Dean looks back up. Cas is smirking a little, watching Dean through his lashes, a mockery of modesty. He’s teasing Dean, the bastard. Propelled by the shift in tone, Dean finds solid ground. He crosses the short distance between them and kisses the arrogant smirk off Cas’ face. He slides his hands into the back of Cas’ jeans, grabs his ass, moans into the kiss. Cas helps him out by shoving his pants down and off until they are both finally, _finally_ , naked. 

“Fuck, Cas,” Dean says. Feeling Cas’ naked against him, their bodies touching from chest to thighs, Dean is suddenly frantic, needing more than he’s ever allowed himself to want. 

Dean had stopped denying his attraction to Cas years ago. It had become a persistent thrum, one he could set aside when Cas wasn’t around, but that reemerged at the briefest of interactions. Now, with a mortal Cas living with them, that distancing is no longer possible. He has had zero chances to regroup, even enjoying the constant, low-grade thrum of attraction, if not the longer showers or Sam’s knowing looks and occasional bitchface.

Clearly Cas has been feeling the same if this moment is any indication. Dean knows Cas would do anything for him (rebelling from the Host is a pretty big gesture, hard for even Dean to ignore, propensity for emotional denseness and all). But this isn’t only for Dean, right? Cas also wants this, too, doesn’t he? 

Worried anew, Dean is pulled out of the moment. Cas is kissing along his neck, open-mouthed, tongue a silky glide against his skin, just a teasing hint of teeth. “Hey, Cas, buddy, you are doing this for yourself, right? Not just because…” Dean trails off, unable to finish the sentence. 

“What gave it away? My ardent participation or the fact that I kissed you first?” 

Okay, who says ardent? And fuck Sam for teaching Cas to be sarcastic. 

Though, Cas’ sarcasm is even hotter when his voice is rough with desire. Cas continues to kiss at Dean’s neck, thrusts his hips forward, cocks lining up against each other exquisitely. “Of course I want this, Dean,” Cas whispers in Dean’s ears, sincere and sexy. His teeth gently close over Dean’s earlobe and Dean’s eyes close, knees weakening, the entirety of him feeling boneless. Cas holds him upright. “I’ve wanted this for a long time.”

 _Well, that is definitely clear and enthusiastic consent_ , Dean thinks as he captures Cas’ lips with his own. He walks them back towards the shower, blindly opening the shower curtain, water spraying onto the floor. He climbs backward into the tub and Cas holds him steady, follows after, closing the shower curtain. 

Cas ends up under the spray. Dean laughs happily and runs his hands through Cas’ hair. Then he runs his hands over Cas’ shoulders, back up his neck, cupping his face and tugging him out from under the spray. They kiss, and Dean wraps his arms around Cas, holding on as Cas backs him up against the wall. The tiles are a shock of cold against Dean’s back and his feet grapple for purchase on the curved surface of the tub. Cas has him, though, one arm wrapped around his waist, the other moving between them to grab hold of their cocks. 

“Seriously, how did you get so good at this?” Dean mumbles and leans his forehead against Cas’, staring down at their cocks in Cas’ fist. Fuck, that’s hot. Dean isn’t going to last long at all, but he’s can’t bring himself to care at this moment. 

Cas chuckles. “Infinite knowledge?” 

Dean stares at him with what he hopes is his bitchface, but he doubts his effectiveness. His eyelids feel heavy and his concentration is pretty much gone as all his brain cells focus in on Cas’ hand jerking them off. 

Dean adds one of his hands to the mix, silently urging Cas to go faster. Cas complies, capturing Dean’s mouth in a wet kiss, all tongue, and Dean is done for. He comes. So hard, he feels a little blind and a lot breathless. 

“You’re so magnificent,” he hears Cas say, voice full of wonder. “I’ve wondered if I’d ever see you as brightly as I did with my grace, and now I see that I can. Like you are now.” 

_How is Cas talking?_ Dean wonders. He opens his eyes and meets Cas’ eyes. They are big, full of emotions, things Dean is scared to name but things that floor him anyway. “Cas,” he says, voice breaking. 

Cas hasn’t talked about losing his grace beyond simple acknowledgement of what he can’t do anymore and usually only when they are out on a hunt. At this moment, though, Dean can see the loss clearly in his eyes. It feels more than he can bear to witness. 

He kisses Cas gently, first his cheeks, then his forehead, and finally, his lips. He pulls Cas into a hug and holds on tight. He doesn’t have words right now, isn’t even sure if words would help, so he just holds Cas, feels the slight shake of his body as tears climb out of Cas. 

Dean rubs Cas’ back through the sobs, holds him tight, maybe says soothing things. He can’t hold onto any one thought, his sense of time and place eroding in the wake of the Cas’ grief voiced in mangled, hiccuping cries. 

Eventually, Cas’ sobs subside and he pulls away. He moves back under the showerhead, one hand outstretched and holding onto Dean’s forearm. Dean steps closer, feels the lukewarm water on his face. Pretty soon it will become cold, Bobby’s aging water heater usually only able to provide twenty minutes of hot water. He grabs the soap from the soap dish, looking away to allow Cas a moment of privacy to gather himself. Then he turns back and moves closer to Cas. “Let me take care of you,” he says. 

Cas nods, and Dean feels grateful for the permission. He runs the soap over Cas’ front, his neck and shoulders, clavicle and chest, stomach and sides. Dean gently turns him around and repeats the treatment over Cas’ back. Then he bends down and gets on his knees--fuck, that’s uncomfortable in a tub--rubs the soap up Cas’ legs. He is eye-level with Cas’ ass, and he pauses to take it in. It’s tempting, too, so he leans forward and gently bites a cheek. Cas yelps and Dean chuckles, kisses where he bit. Dean turns Cas around and is pleased to see that Cas’ erection is returning. Cas didn’t come when Dean did, and Dean has every intention of getting Cas off now. 

He places the soap back in the dish and grabs hold of Cas’ thighs. Pulls him closer and looks up. He knows the attractive image he makes, on his knees, looking up through his lashes, dripping wet. Cas’ face is open, mirroring back Dean’s assumptions with his expression full of desire and wonder. “I’m gonna take good care of you,” Dean says.

Then he leans forward and licks a long stripe up the length of Cas’ cock. Cas’ hand falls onto Dean’s head and Dean hums his approval. He mouths the head, reveling in the taste he’s only imagined in the privacy of quick showers in cheap motels. It’s real now, all his to experience, and he goes all out--licking and sucking, slowly but certainly capturing the full length of Cas in his mouth. He alternates between taking the entirety of Cas in his mouth and using his hands while his mouth focuses on the head. 

Cas is being careful with him, Dean notices. He’s not thrusting into Dean and his hand is a steady pressure on Dean’s head. Seriously, who taught Cas blowjob etiquette? They’re going to have a conversation about this when Dean is less preoccupied. 

“Dean,” Cas says, voice low and urgent. 

Dean looks up into Cas’ hooded eyes. He licks down the length of Cas’ dick, mouths his balls and feels them tightening at the same time as he hears Cas gasp. He gently sucks, then pulls off and jerks Cas off with his hand. “Come on, Cas,” Dean says. 

Cas complies, a strangled “Dean” escaping as he grunts and comes. Dean leans his forehead against Cas’ hips, smiles in satisfaction as he tenderly brings Cas off. He drops a couple of kisses along Cas’ hip bones, and stands up, knees protesting. Worth it, so worth it. 

He can feel the water now, cold. “Let’s get you rinsed off and out of here,” Dean says. 

Cas kisses him gently and nods. Dean grins. 

 

*

 

“Hey, you got a haircut!” Sam says when he and Bobby return. He takes a seat adjacent to Cas and stares. Dean smirks, and Cas blushes. Sam looks between the two, mouth open in shock. “I don’t want to know details, but it looks good on you, Cas,” he says. He gets up from the table. “Gonna unpack and shower. We can debrief about what Bobby and I found after.”

Cas blushes even harder at the mention of the shower and Dean is thrilled. Sam, of course, catches on. “Oh my God. You two are--just, no. I said no details!”

Dean laughs loudly as Sam walks away in a huff.


End file.
